


The God of the Multiverse and I

by DianaLaurence



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Canon Related, Comfort, Crushes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Diane Sanchez - Freeform, F/M, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Intoxication, Kissing, Language, Love, Morty Smith (Rick and Morty) - Freeform, Multiverse, Original Character(s), POV First Person, Restaurants, Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty) - Freeform, Rick Sanchez/Original Female Character - Freeform, Rick and Morty - Freeform, Romance, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Sexual Content, Smith Family (Rick & Morty), Survival, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 09:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17743592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaLaurence/pseuds/DianaLaurence
Summary: Our tale is told by the mistress of the current self-proclaimed God of the Multiverse, who will (natch) find herself falling for the inimitable Rick Sanchez when he is forced to compete against her pompous mate for the title.  The reluctant challenger's inexplicable charms  win over our heroine in spite of herself, setting off a chain of dangerous, thrilling, and of course, romantic events. Will this unlikely pair survive, will the peas be thawed properly, and might they even solve the greatest question of existence?If you’re looking for sexy stuff, there is some, but it's sweet. If you’re looking for Rick (and have a crush on him), there’s a lot.JUSTIN ROILAND STYLE LOGLINE FOR THIS STORY:Rick competes to rule the multiverse in this one broh. And he meets a chick who likes him, broh! There may be death, tho, so buckle up!





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written between _Rick and Morty_ season 3 and 4. In it, I assume the legitimacy of Rick’s past wife Diane Sanchez, who was referenced as a memory projection in “The Rickshank Redemption,”and brushed off by Rick as a fabricated backstory. If future episodes uphold that Diane is indeed a fake, my apologies!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick Sanchez makes a stunning first impression on Diana.

In spring, I was selected to become the Mistress of the God of the Multiverse. By summer, I was becoming concerned that this was not the great stroke of fortune I had thought it would be. 

In the fall I met Rick Sanchez. 

Let me start at the beginning. My home planet, Earth D-112, is a world where we have evolved socially to value intelligence above all. We have a nifty machine that can, with a three-second genetic analysis, determine a person’s precise intelligence level. So it’s easy to make sure we have a society where the smartest people are given the most power. Theoretically, this is why our world is practically free of war, poverty, and disease. 

Three years ago, it was decided that the most intelligent person on Earth D-112 would become leader of our world for a term of ten years, at which time there would be a retesting. Our new leader proved to be a man named Clive Royale, who was fortuitously possessed of an appropriate surname. He was extremely handsome, brilliant, and ambitious to a fault. He was not content to be President Royale. 

After a couple of years of wearing that title, Clive had an idea. He invited four of the multiverse’s most intelligent sentient beings to compete with him in a three-stage challenge he called the God-Quest. In the quest, each competitor was allowed one assistant, and the pairs faced baffling and dangerous puzzles. A few died, a few merely sustained injuries, and none were able to complete even the first stage successfully. Our President passed the first two stages and only failed in the third. 

Clive Royale declared that thereafter he should be known as the God of the Multiverse. 

Clive’s competitive cravings were assuaged for a brief time then, and he determined to take a mistress. Naturally she must be the most intelligent woman on the planet, and that happened to be me. Thus I found myself transported to the Capitol Court, and declared his Mistress in a splendid and absurdly expensive ceremony that was televised all over Earth D-112 and planets beyond. Until then I had aspired merely to continue my studies of Terran satirical literature, in the hopes of writing a book, but now I was famous, powerful, and very, very rich. I confess this was exhilarating at first. And as I said, Clive is quite the handsome fellow. 

Sadly, his interest in me flagged swiftly in the coming weeks. The thrill of being God of the Multiverse became tarnished by the incessant sniping happening in social media. My Master-God was enraged by every twit who claimed to be just as smart as he, or who suggested so-and-so of Altair 2 or wherever possessed twice the intellect of Clive Royale. 

And so he took to issuing more challenges. Initially he would, as in the first God-Quest, invite several competitors to tackle the challenge simultaneously. Then he brought in a constant stream of individuals and their assistants. They all failed, of course, in the first stage. With each new triumph, it seemed Clive became even more uneasy. This seemed counter-intuitive and puzzled me terribly. Finally I sought the counsel of Rodger Soames, the second most intelligent man on Earth D-112, who served as Clive’s Assistant in the God-Quest and was his right-hand man. 

I went to Rodger’s office, determined to get an answer. Before he could interrupt, I sat down in the chair before his desk. “Rodger,” I said to him, “it makes no sense to me that My Master-God should feel slightly worse every time a challenger fails at the God-Quest. Shouldn’t he be happy every time his superiority is proven?” 

“There’s another issue at play, Mistress,” replied Rodger, looked uncomfortable. 

“What issue?” 

“I’m not sure I should speak of it.” 

I glared at him. “Perhaps then I should ask My Master-God directly?” 

“Oh no!” he exclaimed. “Don’t ask him. I’ll tell you, but please, don’t mention the name to him or to anyone.” 

“What name?” 

Rodger lowered his voice to a barely audible level. “Rick Sanchez. Of Earth C-137.” 

“Who is that?” The name meant nothing to me, nor did Earth C-137. 

“The tales of his accomplishments are…astonishing. In many places there is a tacit understanding that he is the smartest man in the multiverse.” 

“You’re kidding. Well then, why hasn’t he been challenged?” 

“Hush please, Mistress! Because our Master-God is afraid it’s true.” 

“Has he told you this?” I asked, shocked. 

“One time when he was drunk, he almost did. I read between the lines. And now, every time a challenger fails, it still leaves the one man as a question mark. It reminds him until he tests Rick Sanchez, he can’t know for sure…but he’s afraid to find out.” 

Just then I heard noise behind me, and turned to see Clive burst into the room. “That’s a lie!” he cried, his face red with fury. 

By contrast, all color had left Rodger’s face. “Clive—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—” 

“I have always intended to bring him here. We’ll wait no longer. Send an envoy to Earth C-137. If he won’t come of his own accord, force him.” 

“Yes, My Master-God,” said Rodger sheepishly. 

Clive didn’t even look at me. It was as if I weren’t even in the room…that’s how I knew how ashamed he was. He whirled on his heel and left without another word. 

_Rick Sanchez of Earth C-137_ , I thought. It wasn’t a moniker that struck terror, but I certainly was curious.

_[OPENING CREDITS ROLL HERE]_

* * * 

By the time the first day of the God-Quest had arrived, the event had grown all out of proportion. The media seized on it of course—“TWO GODS AT WAR: THE SANCHEZ CHALLENGE” was one headline—and the Quest was the hottest ticket on the planet. It was a grand party for days ahead of time at the Capitol Court, but not for me. Clive was in a foul mood and barely spent a moment with me from the time he found out Rick Sanchez had been successfully brought to our Earth. Nevertheless, I was expected of course to dress to the nines and appear on the Court balcony with him and Rodger to oversee the opening ceremony. 

As we stood looking over the wild, impatient crowd, I found myself trembling. No previous God-Quest had been at this level of hysteria. What sort of being _was_ this Rick Sanchez? Did he really have a chance of success, and what if he managed to beat all three Challenges? I shuddered to think—no, it couldn’t be possible. But I had made inquiries, and the stories about him could barely be believed. He had apparently saved Earth C-137 from various legions of aliens, perpetrated crime on planets everywhere, and even stopped time.

At last, the Ceremonial Guard—today armed to the teeth just like a _real_ guard—marched out of the Capitol and into the Courtyard, bearing with them a strange figure. 

Could this be the mighty Rick Sanchez? He was tall, yes, but excessively thin and wiry, with a wild mop of gray hair. The lines on his face proved he was not a young man, although he seemed to exude a young man’s energy. His heavy-lidded eyes expressed great ennui rather than intelligence. He wore khaki trousers, a simple blue shirt and a long white lab coat. In short, he was not particularly imposing, especially considering the reputation that preceded him. I could see too that on his ankle he wore a pain-cuff, a device used to control the rare criminal on our planet. So apparently he hadn’t been inclined to come… 

Even more peculiarly, I noticed then that next to him was a second strange figure: a boy of 13 or 14 years of age. This boy looked around in great alarm and cowered close to Sanchez. 

My Master-God spoke, in his most majestic baritone voice: “Rick Sanchez of Earth C-137!” The crowd fell silent. 

The fellow looked up at him. “Yeah? What?” he said. 

“You are here to accept the challenge of the God-Quest,” said Clive. 

A smirk came over the man’s face. “I’m here because your fucking goons snatched me and Morty here out of our garage—our lab—slapped this, this _anklet_ on me, and dragged us to your shitty planet. Whatever. Let’s get this over with.” 

“You were invited cordially, but—” began My Master-God. 

“Look,” said Sanchez, “it’s fine with me. I’ve been bugged for years about your fucking God-Quest by every shithead in the galaxy and I’d just as soon shut them all up. Let’s do this thing. I only came with these assholes because I chose to.” With that he gave his leg a kick and the pain-cuff flew off and landed on the flagstones a few feet away. 

The crowd gave an audible gasp. Pain-cuffs were made of Toxian steel, mined off-world, and they were and literally welded on with a laser. They could likewise only be removed with a special laser tool, and surely he’d had no access to one….

My Master-God struggled for a moment to regain composure, but finally chose to speak as if nothing unusual had happened. “You are presented now to this Court, and to my Assistant, Rodger Sloane, and to my Mistress, Diana.” 

Throughout this little speech, I couldn’t keep my eyes off Rick Sanchez, and I noticed a strange little twitch around his eyes at my name. That was peculiar. But other than that, he just seemed deeply bored and impatient. 

Clive went on, “These two, next to me, are the most intelligent people on our planet. They are here to bear witness to this God-Quest, along with all you see gathered before you. Now, the rules: You will compete in three Challenges, given exactly one day for each. As I was, you are allowed one Assistant to accompany you. I have already successfully completed the first two Challenges, as has been documented before all.” 

Rick Sanchez raised a hand. “Just a sec there, tiger. So you fucked up the third Challenge and _still_ get to be called God of the Multiverse?” He lifted one dark eyebrow questioningly. 

“It is said the third Challenge is nearly impossible.” 

“ _Said by YOU_ ,“ murmured Sanchez under his breath. 

At this a chuckle bubbled up from inside me, a very unfortunate and unwanted chuckle. I covered my mouth with my hand and faked a quiet cough. The crowd had become nervously silent. 

My Master-God scowled down at the prisoner. “You will learn soon enough of the difficulties that await you, Rick Sanchez,” he proclaimed. “So, should you complete all three Challenges, you will have bested me and earned the title of God of the Multiverse. Should you fail and live to tell the tale, you may leave here in shame.” 

“Fine, fine,” said Sanchez. “And say, can I—do I get to take a flask with me? A little—firewater, to make the long hours more tolerable?” 

“No. You may have food and water, according to your ability to acquire it.” 

“Fuck. Maybe I shouldn’t have come after all. And by the way…” At this Sanchez straightened up to his full height and clasped his hands behind his back, looking steadily at Clive. In his distinctive, gravelly voice he said, “I just want to go on record as saying this whole thing is a grand, stinking pile of bullshit. ‘God of the Multiverse’…what crap is that? I mean, if the size of your dick is inversely proportional to, to the audacity of your title, then ladies and gentlemen, get out your microscopes. Who fucking cares which of us is smarter? I sure the hell don’t. Mr. Douche-God or whatever-the-hell I’m supposed to call you, you need a more interesting hobby. But whatevs, let the games begin!” 

My Master-God was speechless, and crimson, and trembling slightly with rage. But Clive for all his intelligence was never particularly witty, and I knew he sure wasn’t going to arise to wit at a time like this. So I had a few seconds of his stupefied silence to contemplate my own reaction. 

I was flabbergasted. I had seen challengers who were arrogant and boastful, and challengers who were fearful and cowering. I had never seen _anyone_ , challenger or no, who was anything like this irreverent, blasé, sarcastic bastard of a fellow. We didn’t breed blasé, sarcastic bastards on Earth D-112 anymore. 

I liked him a lot, and god forgive me, I smiled. And Rick Sanchez saw it. 

In the end Clive decided to hush the murmuring crowd with a loud proclamation of “Present your Assistant!” He pointed to the young boy. 

Sanchez looked around, confused, then looked down at the boy. “Oh, you mean Morty? _Assistant_? Oh hell no! My grandson is not up for this, buddy. He’s a fine kid, but in the intelligence department—as far as smarts, he’s, he’s short a few spoons.” 

“Aw geez, Rick!” cried the boy, indignant. 

“Sorry, Morty, but you know I’m right, no offense.” Sanchez turned back to Clive. “But look, say—“ [and then, of all things, he emitted a loud burp] “didn’t you say assistant of my choosing? I mean, _you_ got your pick of the fucking litter for the job, so shouldn’t I? To be fair, that is.” The smirk was back, along with a sparkling challenge in his dark eyes. 

“Yes, that is the rule,” said My Master-God, hesitating. “But you—“ 

“All rightee then, I choose _her_.” 

_He was pointing at me_. 

I felt my face go crimson. Rick Sanchez was looking at me now, his eyes fairly boring into mine. He smiled at me in a way that I found unreadable. Was he smirking again? Or offering me some gesture of approval? Or was it a challenge? 

Clive laughed. “My Mistress? Who of course has every desire to see you lose? Why would you want her?” 

Sanchez turned from me to regard My Master-God. “She’s the smartest woman on your planet, why wouldn’t I want her? And more importantly, she laughed at my jokes.” He actually chuckled then. 

“Is this a trick?” asked Clive, clearly confused. 

Sanchez cocked his head to one side, mockingly. “You’re so smart, you tell me,” he said evenly. 

It physically hurt for me not to smile at that one. _I’m a terrible Mistress_ , I chided myself. But then another voice spoke in my head, the voice that would have been Rick Sanchez’s, had he been able to read my mind. It said, _Actually, he’s a terrible Master. Fucking terrible_. 

All at once I realized it was true, and that I was miserable, and that I had been miserable for months. While I suffered this awful epiphany, My Master-God must have run out of arguments, for the next thing I heard was him saying, “If My Mistress consents, you may have her for your Assistant.” 

Sanchez nodded, “Of course,” he said. And then his eyes turned to me. “Do you?” he asked. 

I had been wrong in my first impression of him. He _was_ imposing. He was even attractive. No, very attractive, in a way that made my mind feel like it was twisting inside out. “Yes,” I said. 

“Fuckin’ A,” said Rick Sanchez with a grin. 


	2. Challenge #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Diana get to know one another while trying to avoid a very messy death.

We were locked, after hours, in the Municipal Recycling Center. It was a huge facility that served all of the capital, sorting and processing the waste of over two million people. The Center was a marvel of automation and technology, and also—for reasons I couldn’t fathom—as secure as a maximum security prison. The building had no windows, and the doors were unbreachable. I remembered this from a tour Clive and I had been given when the facility opened. 

We stood in the dimly lit hallway, getting our bearings. I spoke first, saying, “We toured this place two years ago. I remember how some of it is laid out.” 

Rick cast a skeptical eye at me. He said, “You do know that any ways you choose to help me are a betrayal of your—Master—oh fuck, please give me something I can call him without feeling like an idiot.” 

“His name is Clive,” I replied. “And it’s my duty to help you, I’m your Assistant.” 

“ _And_ Clive’s wife, or whatever—” He made a slightly disgusted face, and belched loudly. 

“We’re not married, it’s strictly a political arrangement,” I explained, feeling newly embarrassed by my connection to the leader of the planet. 

“But you—fu—you have sex—? Conjugal bed and all that?” 

_Now he’s watching his language?_ I thought. “We have,” I said, and left it at that. 

He gave me a long look, then abruptly said, “Enough small talk. I need to see schematics of this place. Any idea where to look?” 

The quick change of subject threw me for a moment. Then I gathered my wits and said, “There’s a central control room where most of the staff offices. It only takes a couple dozen to run the whole place, and I’d say twenty of their desks are in there.” 

I led us there in good time, and we turned on the lights and looked around the room. It was filled with cubicles and computers. It was the work of a minute to turn one on and find it password-protected. 

“Shit,” said Rick. “You’re one of those cultures with a, with a password fetish. Such a pain in the ass.” He pursed his lips in thought. 

“Yeah, it’s not a surprise,” I said. I watched him thinking. A strange sort of calm came over me, watching his eyes narrow. _He’ll figure it out_ I thought. _He’s going to figure out this whole damn thing_. 

He looked at me then and said, “Well, one of these jerks is bound to be a Luddite dumbass and have paper printouts in his drawer. Let’s get searching.” 

We went in opposite directions, working our way through the desks and file cabinets one by one. At one point I heard Rick start snorting with laughter, and I stood up and looked over in his direction. “It seems your society is not so advanced as to eschew pornos,” he said, and held up a magazine with a naked, busty woman on the cover in a lewd pose. “Idiot must not realize what the internet is for. _Say_ …this guy could be our Luddite!” With renewed vigor he began plowing his way through the file cabinet and sure enough, after a minute or so he cried, “Bingo, motherfuckers!” 

I rushed over to his side as he spread out a roll of large format pages on the desktop, the top one being a detailed blueprint of the entire facility. I had no idea what I was supposed to be looking for until I saw it, about the same instant Rick did. “Damn, I should have bet you this was what it was going to be—I figured as much,” he said with amused satisfaction. He turned to look me in the eye. “You guys have Star Wars here—on this Earth, don’t you?” 

“Well yes, what does—?” 

Rick jammed a long finger down on the blueprint. “We have to get out through the trash compactor. What a fucking cliché. Big dramatic scene...walls coming in to crush us to death. I’ll bet the challengers who died in this lame-ass competition all ended up smooshed. A fine reward for having figured out the one way out.” 

“I honestly don’t know how they died,” I said. “No information has ever come out about what happens in the Challenges, except how far the challengers progress. Obviously the details of the Challenges need to be kept secret. Only Clive and his Assistant Rodger Soames know. The competitors who survive, and any staff that are involved, get their short term memories wiped.” 

I couldn’t even tell if Rick had heard me. His eyes were glazed over and his mind clearly elsewhere. “Give me a minute with these,” he said, and flipped through the pages of the document, his eyes scanning diagrams and notations that I could’ve barely understood had I taken my time with them. Finally he flattened the pile so the map was back on top. “Take me to the commissary—lunchroom—cafeteria,” he said. Then he cast down his eyes at the blueprint for a mere second, and added, “Never mind, I’ll take you. Grab a pen and paper.” 

In a split second he was on his way, lab coat flying behind him. The man seemed to have two speeds: thinking, and manic. He looked to be in his sixties but I’d known competitive athletes with less energy. I scrambled for a pen and a small notepad and dashed after him. 

When we arrived in the lunchroom and threw on the lights, Rick took the paper and pen from me and started writing. Meanwhile he said, “I need all these things. We’ll split up and look for them. Yell out anything you find. Go!” He thrust the list into my hand. We both headed for the kitchen. 

His urgency was infectious, and I found myself flinging open cabinets and digging through drawers at a frantic pace. Rick yelled out, “Canola oil!” I found the salt and shouted out my discovery. And so it went, locating this and that, and then we found a closet with cleaning supplies and hit the jackpot for most of the other items. As I was reviewing my list, and Rick said, “You didn’t find the peas, right?” 

“I didn’t,” I replied. 

“There have to be fucking peas,” said Rick with displeasure. “These cafeterias always work fucking peas in somewhere. A casserole. A salad.” 

“The peas are essential?” 

He gave me a look of disapproval that made me cringe. “Are they on the list?” he said in a low, even voice. 

“I’ll check the freezer again,” I told him, dashing off. 

Thank God I found the peas, hidden in back under a lot of frost. I hadn’t enjoyed that look. “Got ‘em!” I shouted. “Do you want them frozen or thawed?” 

He strode over to me, waving his long arms. “Thawed, but for god’s sake, don’t microwave them! Use hot water.” 

Rick divvied up our booty into two groups on the counter near the big gas range. He pulled out bowls and knives and spoons like some maniacal chef, and set to work. He told me, “I gotta do this part, and I need to focus. You find me a couple of empty glass bottles, preferably with caps. They have to be glass.” 

“I’m on it,” I said. 

When I came back with the bottles he was intently stirring two strange smelling concoctions in two pots with two different spoons. “Good girl,” he said, not looking up, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I don’t suppose you—you encountered any fine cooking wine?” 

“No—sorry.” 

“S’okay. I’m a high-functioning alcoholic so I had to ask.” 

I laughed nervously at this. 

“No, really,” he said. “Pretty much buzzed all the time. Never without my flask if I can help it. It doesn’t slow me down much—high-functioning is an understatement—but still, delirium tremens are no fucking joke, I can tell you.” 

I had no idea what to say at first, but then I asked, “How’s your liver?” 

“I replace it every few years. This one’s still pretty good.” He snapped off the stove and slid the pots off the hot burners. “Okay, this stuff is ready, but we need to let it cool a bit before we bottle it.” He turned to look at me at last. “I’m not a drunkard, Mistress Di—people with brains like mine, we can’t be drunkards.” 

_Mistress Di_? I kind of liked that name. But I had no chance to dwell on it because I was also wondering where that last remark was coming from. 

“No judgment, Rick,” I said, choosing now to call him by name for the first time. “You seem to do all right for yourself.” 

“Oh I’m royally fucked-up. I’m an arrogant, self-absorbed, self-loathing son-of-a-bitch. Just not a drunkard. I despise a man who can’t hold his liquor.” 

I tried to read his face. I’m pretty good at reading faces, and he didn’t appear to be joking. I judged him to be reporting his self-image accurately, and it seemed he had made a sort of begrudging peace with it. Rick wasn’t asking for pity, that was clear. He just had so much confidence in himself that he believed he could get by somehow in spite of all his flaws. He seemed determined to get by. 

“I like you,” I heard myself say. Then I felt my cheeks go crimson. 

“I know,” said Rick. 

* * * 

We located the trash compacting room, a very large chamber where the plant dumped any materials that couldn’t be recycled. At the present time it was virtually empty, a fortunate fact since I hadn’t been relishing the idea of wading through garbage. 

Rick looked around, taking quick stock. “Okay, Di,” he said. “Let me know if anything I’m saying is wrong.” He pointed to the wall to our left. “The crushing wall, starts moving inwards when the room is at, is at capacity, and stops when it can’t move any further.” He pointed to the floor. “Conveyor...pushes crushed contents out into the free world for pickup.” He pointed to the wall straight ahead. “Gateway to freedom, opens up when crushing is finished. And probably staffed with at least one guard at the moment. In case we’ve already gotten here and solved this fucking puzzle.” He turned to me and handed me the two bottles of liquid he’d made. 

“That’s all correct I’m sure,” I agreed, taking them from his hands. 

Rick gave me a firm nod, turned on his heel, and headed towards the wall behind us. As he walked he said, “If there’s a guy—a guard out there, you keep him occupied and I’ll do the rest. I’m fucking starving, and the food at your little jail, your ‘detention center,’ is shitty. You can get us a nice dinner somewhere, right Di?” 

My head was swimming a little. “Hold up, Rick—how do we start the crushing process when the sensors are reading the room as empty?” 

He had reached a control panel and was busy doing something nefarious to it. “I saw the schematics, remember? I’d like steak. Make that surf ‘n’ turf. You got surf ‘n’ turf here on D-112, Di?” 

“Yes—are you going to—?” 

There was a deep thud and then a humming, and I turned to see the wall had started to move. “Gimme those,” said Rick, his hands extended. I put the bottles into them. “Stand over there,” he instructed, indicating the wall to our right. I obeyed. The wall wasn’t moving swiftly, but the room had gotten visibly smaller already. Rick went to the approximate middle of the room, opened the two bottles in turn, and poured the contents together into a puddle on the floor. 

The puddle just sat there. 

Rick strode over to stand next to me. “You do realize,” he said calmly, “your husband—whatever—Clive didn’t mind the possibility of you being crushed to death in here.” 

Coincidentally, that thought had just come to me a moment before. “I’m sure he figured I would hang back...not come in here with you.” 

“Don’t the rules say we both have to get out?” 

“They do, but maybe...” The inactive pool of liquid was making me very nervous. “Say, Rick—is that stuff glue or something?” 

“Nope. Just give it a minute.” 

“Do we have a minute?” I was really quaking with fear now. 

Rick turned to me, frowning. “You did _completely_ thaw the peas, right?” he asked ominously. 

My hand flew to my mouth and I said, “Oh God...I’m sure I did, I’m sure!” 

He laughed. “Aw shit, baby—I'm just yanking your chain. The look on your face! C’mon, don’t you just love these cliffhanger moments? So exhilarating, such a rush! Ha ha, maybe after I’m crowned God of the Fucking Multiverse, you’ll start to trust me. Why is it people are always so slow to—" 

He was interrupted by a loud noise, somewhere between a whomp and a snap, and in the blink of an eye the puddle inflated to a ten foot tall crystalline mass. 

“It’s that,” he said blandly, pointing to the newly-created rock formation. 

I watched in awe-struck silence as the encroaching wall encountered the crystal, and with a slight screech, came to a halt. 

Rick made a grand gesture towards it and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, SCIENCE!” 

I stared at him. “I know science, Rick, and this isn’t any kind of—" 

The back wall was now sliding open and the light of dusk poured into the room. “No time, Di,” said Rick, “we’ve got company!” 

Indeed, an armed guard was outside and making his way toward the opening door. I raised my hands in a halting gesture and said in a friendly, nonchalant voice, “Officer, hello! Yes, it seems we’ve solved it, how about that!” I walked toward him, as did Rick, remaining silent for once. I went on, “What’s your name, good sir?” 

The man replied, “Sergeant Will Despers, My Mistress.” He bowed respectfully and holstered his gun. I could tell he was a bit awestruck at seeing me at close range. His expression made him look like he might request a selfie with me at any second. 

“Sergeant Despers,” I replied with my most endearing smile. “My Master-God will be quite surprised we finished so quickly, don’t you think?” 

I positioned myself so the guard had to turn away from Rick. “He’ll have mixed feelings I’m sure,” the guard joked, then blushed and frowned as if he regretted the words. Meanwhile Rick sidled behind him with surprisingly practiced deftness, and put him in a head lock. 

“You’re not going to kill him, Rick!” I cried. 

“Fuck no—I’ve done this a bunch of times, it’s easy to tell where the, where the line is. There!” He lowered the unconscious man to the floor. “Another few seconds, gone-zo, but that would be overkill. Literally.” 

“Now what?” I asked. 

“Dinner. You’re the fucking Mistress of the Multiverse, you can get us a private dinner somewhere, can’t you? I mean look, we sure as shit deserve it. We beat the goddamn Challenge, didn’t we?” He grinned. 

It suddenly hit me. He’d beaten the Challenge. He’d done something no other challenger had ever done. Elation washed over me, half simply at the thought of the victory, and half at how furious this was going to make Clive. I could picture his expression, scarlet rage spreading over his face. When did I become so vindictive? I giggled out loud, and the sound of myself giggling, which I hadn’t done in a very long time, pushed me over the edge. 

“ _You_ beat the goddamn Challenge, Rick Sanchez!” I cried. “Let’s find ourselves some surf ‘n’ turf!” 

He laughed out loud at that. Making him laugh so heartily was thrilling to me. Suddenly I realized I hadn’t had so much fun since I was a child, and I didn’t want it to stop. 

I turned and ran, with Rick behind me, up the service drive and then onto the public sidewalk. In another block we were on a main road. Everyone we saw recognized us of course, but no one stopped us, and it didn’t take long to flag down a cab. The cab driver looked shocked when my face appeared in his window. Seeing as I was the Mistress, he pretty much had to do whatever I asked. 

Rick held the door for me and climbed in after. He was clearly in a very ebullient mood. We sat in silence, grinning at each other and stifling our laughter by turns. Finally we got our faces in order and then just looked out the windows until we reached our destination. 

The cabbie dropped us off, per my instructions, at The Starpoint, an elegant dining establishment famous for its steaks and its views of the city lights. With my wrist credit chip I paid the fare, along with an immense tip to bribe the man for his discretion. I rushed Rick down an alley to the side entrance, where I knocked at the door. After a moment, it opened to reveal the shocked face of a staff person. 

“Good evening,” I said to her cordially. “Please allow us in…we’ll wait here for the maitre ‘d, if you please. And I hope you will see him later. If you keep this to yourself, he’ll have a very fine gratuity for you.” 

We were admitted, and stood in the shadowy alcove for a minute. “Damn, Di,” said Rick approvingly, “you’d make a fine queen, or dictator, or something.” 

“Well, this planet may not be much of a democracy, but it’s an excellent benevolent dictatorship,” I replied with a smile. 

Rick snorted his amusement. 

The maitre d’, whom I knew well, appeared. “My Mistress Diana!” he exclaimed, white-faced. 

“Theo, my companion here and I have had a long day and are famished. We’d like the Tiffany Room, and your complete discretion.” I held up my wrist. “I’d be most comfortable if you’d charge me right now for your tip, and one also for the associate who fetched you as well.” 

“As you wish, of course, Mistress,” said Theo, who was looking quite overwrought. As we executed the transaction, I whispered the meal order in his ear. “Now you won’t need to disturb us except to serve,” I said out loud. 

“Of course, your room will be ready in two minutes. I guarantee you will not be disturbed.” He gave a little bow. 

The wait was less than that, and we were taken up to the sixth floor in the private elevator. In contrast to my previous visits with Clive, I felt horrifically underdressed wearing clothes that were suited for an adventure in a recycling plant, with an escort in a blue shirt, khakis and a lab coat. But my distress was eased by the all-pervasive scent of roasting meat; I was famished. We exited the elevator and Theo held open the door to the Tiffany Room. I led the way, Rick followed, and the door closed behind us. 

“Holy shit, this place is swanky!” said Rick approvingly, looking around. It was a huge room, modern but elegant, dimly lit. Beyond the tasteful furnishings were floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view of the city, with the sun setting and the city lights coming up. 

I let Rick wander and checked myself in the smoky mirror that hung on one wall, above a rather futuristic fish tank full of small freshwater sharks. I didn’t look too bad, I judged. Then I jumped at Rick’s voice coming from across the room. 

“Diane--I think I love you,” he said, tenderly. 

A shock ran through me and I turned to find him holding up the bottle of bourbon I’d ordered. He was beaming at me, but the look abruptly turned to chagrin. He was actually blushing. “Oh—s-sorry,” he stammered. “Force of habit—I mean, back in the day—shit, I’m just really happy to see this bottle. Sorry, clearly I need a drink _badly_.” 

I was very confused, but my predominant thought was to ease his embarrassment. As I crossed the room towards him I said, “Elijah Craig Small Batch is great stuff on D-112, don’t know if it is on your Earth. I could have spent a thousand on Pappy Van Winkle, but I figured you were going to gulp a good share of it and that seemed a waste of good liquor.” 

“Sound thinking,” he agreed, looking relieved that I'd made a joke at his expense. He opened the bottle and poured two glasses for us. He took up one and handed me the other. “Here’s mud in your eye, Di,” he said. 

“Here’s to the champion of the hour,” I replied, clinking his glass with mine. 

We drank, me a sip and him a long swallow. “Great shit,” he pronounced, followed by a characteristic burp. “Two days... _more_ than two days. It’s been, well, a fucking long time since I’ve gone that long, honey.” 

“It does feel like just what the doctor ordered,” I replied. 

The little moment of crisis seemed to have passed, so I found myself—with the aid of the liquor—able then to replay in my mind what I’d heard. _Diane—I think I love you_. It didn’t matter that he didn’t mean it, or that he got my name slightly wrong. Just hearing those words in that voice...that voice that I now relished hearing, no matter what inanities, vulgarities, or reproach it spoke...just hearing it made me feel weak and dizzy. 

Oh no—was I falling in love with him? With _Rick Sanchez_?? My Master-God’s arch-nemesis, an uncouth, unstable, crazy genius who would be either dead or off-world in a few days? A man who couldn’t possibly reciprocate on his best day? It was stupid, it was self-destructive, and it didn’t make the least bit of sense. 

My next swallow of bourbon was more of a gulp. Rick was prattling on about what a day it had been; how he wondered how Clive had managed to get through the plant without benefit of the chemistry he, Rick, had pulled off; how he couldn’t wait to relate the whole thing to Morty because obviously he already had a plan to circumvent the memory wipe. I half-listened with appreciation, for I knew the joyous feeling of triumph I’d had earlier had been a lot more fun than the disoriented freak-out that accompanied my new epiphany. _It’s a little crush_ , I told myself, _you’re just excited. Shut up and enjoy the moment._

We took our drinks over to a couple of easy chairs and sat down. Rick brought the bottle and gave us both refills. We reviewed our adventure, laughed over things like the porno magazine and the peas. I asked Rick about the rumor I’d heard that he had once turned himself into a pickle. He confirmed it was true, and told me how his pickle self had lured a cockroach into range, turned it into a mech suit, and used that to kill a rat and turn _that_ into a mech suit, and then made weapons out of sewer garbage and killed a couple dozen bad guys, still while in pickle form. I believed every word.

After a polite knock, Theo brought in our dinners of filet mignon and lobster tails, along with a bottle of excellent rosé. Rick tucked into the food with a vengeance. In between bites he asked me a little mockingly about my “hope and dreams,” but I could tell he sincerely wanted to know. I told him about my fascination with satirical literature, my studies, and my desire to write a book on the subject.

“ _Don Quixote_ , _Animal Farm_ , _A Clockwork Orange_ , _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ ,” I listed off. “Any of those exist on C-137?”

“All of them!” exclaimed Rick. “I read _Clockwork Orange_ while waiting for a transport once. That book was messed up. In a good way.”

“Well nobody’s writing satire here anymore,” I told him. “No satire on TV, no satire online. It hasn’t been banned, it’s just really out of vogue. I think our culture isn’t too good at humor in general anymore.”

“And yet, it does so well at the benevolent dictating. Go figure,” said Rick dryly.

“See, you do satire all day long,” I told him with a smile.

“So that’s what you see in me. I thought it was my ability to turn myself into a pickle and live to tell the tale.”

“There’s so much to like, I’m not sure what to choose!” I teased.

“Well, Diana, you’re drunk.”

 _So he did know my exact name_. Hmmm. “I sure as hell am,” I agreed. “So what are your feelings on _women_ who can’t hold their liquor?”

He raised his wine glass to me. “Shit…the more of them, the better!” he said. We laughed. Then he took a long drink and his face went serious. “But you are going to write that book, right?”

“I want to, but—”

“Just fucking do it then. You’re the Mistress of the Whatever-verse, make—make it happen! Like who can stop you…Clive?”

“It’s complicated,” I sighed.

“Fuck you, it’s not,” declared Rick. “I want to read it.”

“You wouldn’t read it. When do you find time to read? You’re always off turning rats into death-suits.”

He almost spit out his wine laughing at that. “Damn, woman…you’re so much funnier than Morty. Why am I not hanging out with you” (and here he emitted a lusty belch) “instead of that little whiner?”

“Oh geez, Rick,” I said, imitating poor Morty.

This brought another gale of laughter from Rick, and his guffawing made _me_ laugh, and soon we were both in stitches.

“I’m going to fall off my chair,” I said. “Let’s move to the couch. If we sit quietly and look at the view, maybe we can get a grip. I can’t be in this state when I see Clive.”

We stood up and took our wine with us, settling in on the sofa in front of the huge windows. “Oh man,” I said as we sat down, “I had no idea how drunk I was until I stood up. Drunk and really tired.”

“Do you want to go?” he asked, with surprising consideration.

“Oh hell no. I never want to go.”

“We could live here. I’m pretty fucking sure a swanky place like this would never run out of bourbon, so I’d be…I’d be all set.” He stretched his long legs out on the cocktail table.

I tried to catch my breath from the laughing, took a sip from my glass, and set it down on the table. I leaned back into the cushions. My intoxication was tipping out over the line between the fun zone and some other, confusing realm…a realm of sadness, fatigue, and misgiving. To hold myself from falling across that line, I replayed Rick’s words in my head: _Diane—I think I love you_. I felt comforting warmth radiating off of his body next to mine. I realized he had a scent—a scent besides the smell of bourbon and wine—and how much I liked it. I gazed at his legs, so long and slender, and his left hand resting on his thigh. He had quite beautiful hands. 

_Beauty is really such a strange thing_ , I thought. _He’s not handsome, but I could look at him all day. That crazy face, those eyes that can be frightening, exciting, deep as the sky. I don’t understand. I just don’t understand_.

“Earth C-137 to Earth D-112,” said Rick gently. “Do you read me?”

“Sorry, just…a little overwhelmed. I’m fine. Look at that view, hey? This planet may suck at humor but we’re pretty good at aesthetics and architecture.”

“Not bad. No, really, it’s nice.”

We sat for a minute. I found myself wanting to tip my head onto his shoulder, really, really badly. It could be the worst possible move I could make, but the desire was overwhelming. Plus I was drunk, so in the end I decided it was pointless to fight it. I slowly leaned to my right, till my shoulder came in contact with him, and let my head tip. His shoulder was bony, but it made me feel better, and I was close to his face now, and I could feel his warmth all along my right side, and the urge was satisfied. I waited for him to pull away, or make a joke…

I felt his cheek lean against the top of my head. I felt some strands of his wild hair brush my forehead. He stayed there, without a word. Neither of us moved. I stared out the window and felt his breath lightly on my face. Then I noticed I could see our reflections in the window. I looked so small next to him, and he looked so…so protective. That was it. He made me feel safe, and free. And strong, and special. He made me feel a dozen different things and they were all really good.

There was a knock at the door. We both sat up. Then I stood up, almost fell back down, and regained my balance. “Yes?” I called.

The door opened and Theo leaned through the opening. “My Mistress, please pardon the interruption, I’m so sorry. I just thought you ought to know. There have been news bulletins on TV for the past couple of hours, saying you’ve been kidnapped by…by Mr. Sanchez. And they just declared a City Emergency and put everything on lockdown.”

“Good god,” said Rick quietly. And then followed it with a whispered, “This is fucking awesome!”

“Thank you, Theo, I’m glad you let me know. Please get the Office of the Master-God know I’m fine and will be home shortly. And call us a cab, if you will.”

“Certainly, my Mistress,” said Theo with a nod, and closed the door.

I turned to Rick. “I’ve been really irresponsible,” I said.

“And I got the Mistress-God of the Multiverse drunk off her ass,” said Rick with a grin. “So we both aced the day!”

That sent me into another fit of giggles. We were both still laughing when we got into the cab.


	3. Challenge #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Diana face two struggles: staying alive, and finding out how badly love can hurt.

I awoke the next morning in my private bedchamber, parched and with a terrible headache. At first I couldn’t recall how the night had ended, but then vague images flashed in my mind: Rick being led away to the Detention Hall, flashing me a weary, bemused grin…Rodger telling me he had no message from Clive, who would not be seeing me that night…a look of foreboding from one of the Court attachés and a look of sly amusement from another. 

I sat up in bed and picked up my tablet from the nightstand. I started by checking the Court Times and then the other major news outlets. All were reporting the evening’s events circumspectly, sticking to what I assumed was the story in the official press release: that false rumors of a kidnapping had created brief chaos in the capital, but all was well. The reports were spun so as to suggest the two of us had not actually been AWOL at all. I also noticed that story was given slightly more weight than the one about Rick passing the first Challenge. No doubt Clive had decided it was best to use the City Emergency as a distraction from that unfortunate news. He was shrewd, that was certain.

The news sources directed at the less intelligent folk in the land, or “rags” as we called them, took a different view of the evening’s events. While I was relieved that none of their stories included any of the truth—apparently my bribes and the good will of the co-conspirators had served their purpose—it was unpleasant to read speculations that Rick had tried to abduct me off-world, or even that we had engaged in sex in some secret, sordid boudoir. 

Enough of that. I got up, made myself presentable, and sought out Clive. One of his assistants told me he would be occupied all day and had left word to tell me we would have breakfast together the following day while we traveled to the location of the second Challenge. While this news translated clearly to mean My Master-God was furious with me, I didn’t mind a bit not having to face him until he’d had a chance to cool off.

I wanted desperately to see Rick. The way our dinner had ended had left me confused. Sometimes the mental picture of it made me feel embarrassed and regretful…other times it made me giddy. Meanwhile, I was also worried that Rick had not returned to a warm reception at Detention. I told myself it would be best to show no interest in him, so as not to encourage any more rumors, but I seemed to have lost my ability to be sensible since Rick Sanchez entered my life. And wasn’t I the Mistress-God? Couldn’t I do as I pleased at Court?

So I went to Rodger’s office to inquire if I might pay the challenger a visit. He blanched at my question and rose from his desk. “My Mistress, I’m afraid that’s not possible. My Master-God made it quite clear he should have no visitors today, including you, beg your pardon. In the interests of the integrity of the competition.”

“What does that mean?” I asked peevishly. My hangover seemed to me making every annoyance a bit worse.

“He didn’t elaborate, but he was quite clear—“

“I should speak with him…”

“My Mistress—I don’t advise it. Truly, let him be until tomorrow. I can’t stop you, but as a friend, I’m telling you…Clive needs to adjust to this.”

I sighed. “I suppose he does. What do you plan to do with him after Rick passes the next Challenge?” I asked.

Rodger kept his face blank. “He won’t,” he told me quietly.

“Oh, but he will,” I said, too put out to hide my smug tone.

Rodger walked up to me and looked down into my face earnestly. “Diana—be careful. Keep in mind who you’re dealing with here. Rick Sanchez has murdered countless sentient beings in this and many other dimensions. He’s lied, cheated, stolen, turned on his own family…”

“Let me talk to Morty,” I interrupted.

“His grandson?”

“Yes. I don’t imagine Clive forbade that. Bring Morty to my office.” I gave Rodger my steeliest stare.

“As you wish,” he replied, clearly worried. 

* * * 

“So, Morty…how have you been doing?” I asked.

The two of us were sitting on a chaise opposite my desk, drinking cocoa. I didn’t have a lot of experience talking to pubescent boys, but Morty wasn’t exactly intimidating. In fact, I felt sorry for him, torn from his home and then isolated from the only friend he had on my planet.

“Um, I dunno—fine I guess. My room is nice and the computer games are cool. But it’s weird being on a strange Earth without Rick around. Obviously we’ve been to weirder—to other—we’ve been all over but we’re usually together, you know? And of course, I’m worried about him.” Morty rubbed one hand on his jeans nervously.

“Well for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry this had to happen to you. They really didn’t need to bring you here along with him.”

“Uh yeah, no…I think they did. I think I’m for leverage, you know—like ‘Hey Rick, do what we say or the kid gets thrown in the woodchipper,” that sort of thing.” Morty said this so matter-of-factly, in his squeaky voice, that it broke my heart.

“Oh God, what a thing for you to think!” I exclaimed.

“Well, that’s just how it goes, you know? I mean—sorry if it was upsetting. But I would like to see him. Did they stick him back in jail?”

“Yes, and I’ll ask if you can see him.”

“Thanks! Oh, and can you tell me all about the Challenge? I wish I could have gone. I’m not as dumb as Rick said, by the way. I do don’t great in school, but I miss it a lot, going on adventures with Rick. But could you tell me?”

I looked down into his eager, hopeful face and said, “Oh, I wish I could. But no one’s allowed to tell.”

“Oh whoa—do they wipe your memories then? Did they do it already?”

It was true…the boy was brighter than he seemed at first blush. Plus I imagined he had experienced a lot of strange and terrible things in the company of his grandfather. I replied, “They won’t wipe mine, I’m like the queen here and nobody can do that to me.” Then I leaned over to whisper, “And Rick has a plan. So don’t worry, he’ll tell you later all about it.”

Morty grinned. “Aw, cool. Say, and I know he comes across as a huge assho—a huge jerk, but really, he’s okay.”

“I like him a lot, Morty.” I smiled.

“Do you? Awesome. I like him a lot too, most of the time.”

“What’s he like? Everyone seems to have a story and I don’t know who to believe. But I’d believe _you_ , Morty.”

The boy nodded, with a serious expression, and said, “Yeah, I’m the expert on Rick Sanchez all right. I guess I’d say he’s exactly what he seems like. He doesn’t hold back. No filter on my grandpa, that’s for sure. And like you probably noticed, he drinks all the time and is pretty messed up. But he can do anything and get out of any kind of fucked-up situation. Sorry I said that. Anyway, he can make me really mad and then I just forget about it. Partly because it’s no use, and partly because, well, he’s really awesome. It’s hard to explain.”

I sighed, marveling at this little speech. “I know, it really is,” I agreed. 

Morty looked at me, puzzled. “So you mean, you get it?”

“Yeah, I definitely get it.”

Morty smiled hopefully. “So you really do like him too?”

I replied, “Very much.”

“Cool,” said the boy, “’Cuz a lot of people think I’m nuts. Sometimes _I_ think I’m nuts.”

“I get that too,” I said, laughing. Morty laughed too. Then I asked him, “Do you think Rick’s a good person? Some people don’t think so, but I thought you’d know better than anyone.”

“Well that’s a question for the ages,” he replied, looking pensive. “Sometimes I can’t believe the crazy shit—sorry—stuff he does, like he just doesn’t think. But then I think maybe he just thinks really fast. He’s killed a lot of monsters and bad people, and okay, some of them weren’t bad people, but sometimes there are accidents even when you can think really fast. Did you know he helped lead the rebels against the Galactic Federation? A whole bunch of worlds were liberated because of the rebels. And he’s saved my life a bunch of times. But don’t mention it—he’ll just go off about all the ways I screwed up and almost got myself killed except for him, etc.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. But I was also impressed. “Rick, a freedom fighter, hey?” I asked.

“Well, really it was more that he was pissed off at the GF. He hates assholes, so a whole organization of them bullying people around and acting like their shit doesn’t stink, well, sorry about the language but I don’t know how else to put it—anyway that sort of situation just makes him want to shoot at stuff.”

“Huh. Well, that does sound like the Rick Sanchez I know, I guess.”

“Yeah, that’s Rick. That and a couple thousand other things too weird and complicated to get into.”

We sat, thinking, for a long moment. “More cocoa?” I asked.

“Yes please,” said Morty. 

* * * 

The next morning we took a private car in the high speed train to the north side of the city, to the Capital Interplanetary Transport. We were served a light breakfast, and while we ate, My Master-God read the morning news on his tablet, more or less without speaking. When the dishes had been cleared, he folded his hands in his lap, adopted a calm demeanor, and looked me in the eye.

“So I hear you met with Sanchez’s grandson yesterday,” he said coolly. “I wonder why.”

“Well for one thing,” I replied, “I feel badly that the child was brought here against his will and then separated from his grandfather. Why didn’t we send him home?”

“It’s better he stays here,” said Clive. And that was that, no further explanation. Then he went on, “You said, ‘for one thing.’ So I assume there was another reason, and I wonder what that could be.”

I decided to be honest. I really had nothing to hide, so why act as if I did? I told him, “Rick Sanchez is a very interesting character. It seems everyone in the multiverse either likes him or hates him. I wanted to get an opinion from someone who knows him directly and well.”

“And what does it matter, Diana?” His gaze was intense, but for now, serene. I knew how quickly Clive could go from serene to irate.

“Well, to a certain extent my life is in the man’s hands. I’d like to think I can trust him.”

My Master-God let out a guffaw. “Your life in his hands! Your life is in _my_ hands, My Mistress. You must know that.”

“Is it? What would have happened if we hadn’t been able to stop the trash compactor from crushing us?”

“Oh don’t worry—I have safeguards. You’re my mate, do you honestly think I would put you in danger?”

I realized it didn’t look good at all for me to be suggesting I didn’t trust my own mate to protect me. It was honestly a wonder Clive hadn’t flown into a rage by now. I stammered, “Well…of course it made no sense…it’s just that I wasn’t certain what the rules allowed. I know you weren’t pleased I accepted being Rick’s Assistant, and I thought maybe that was because of the dangers—”

“I told myself you simply wanted to make sure the rules were enforced to a T,” said Clive indulgently. “Sanchez chose you—technically it was his right and you shouldn’t have refused. I assume this was your logic as well.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Of course.” Clive smiled and turned to gaze out the window. After a minute of silence he spoke, still looking out at the city, and said, “He’ll undoubtedly die today.” After a beat he turned to me. “But we’ll be monitoring you. If you’re in crisis, there will be intervention. You were worried yesterday…I don’t want to put you through that again.”

A bolt of icy lightning had shot through me. “But if you’re monitoring us, why should he—?”

“Monitoring _you_. Just you. He’s the challenger, his life is forfeit.”

“But it isn’t necessary!”

At this Clive leaned toward me abruptly, almost a leap, and scowled into my face. “The God-Quest is what it is, Diana!” he cried. I could tell a tirade was on the verge of escaping his lips, but he forced the words back and sat back down in his chair. In a tense but softer tone he said, “This will all be over by dawn tomorrow.”

I stared at him in silence. Finally I asked, “Where are we going?”

“Toxia.”

My blood ran cold. ”Toxia? The minelands?”

“No, the southern hemisphere.” Clive smiled wanly. “It’s a survival challenge.”

Toxia was a nearby planet where we mined the metal used for the pain-cuffs and other applications that benefited from its tremendous tensile strength. It had a similar atmosphere to Earth, with oceans and land-based water in modest quantities. However, due to its unique rotation path, Toxia was a fairly uniform temperature planet-wide. It was above freezing, but not by a great deal, and void of life except for some species of hardy plants. The southern hemisphere I referenced was the coldest part of the planet. It was a miserable place not even fit for a penal colony, had we needed one.

I racked my brain to think of how it might be possible to survive 24 hours in the southern hemisphere of Toxia. I recalled one interesting (now terrifying) fact about the plants there: they were universally incombustible. There would be no cozy campfire where Rick and I were headed.

* * * 

The plan for our departure was not public, so there was no crowd and no press in the Transference Room, just the usual staff. We waited maybe five minutes before Rick and his escorts came in the doorway. I had been so looking forward to seeing him, but knowing we were about to be transported to Toxia, the sight of him just filled me with dread. My heart sank further when I saw what he looked like: exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes.

“Hey, buddy,” Rick said to me with a wan smile. “Big day ahead, huh?”

“Rick—“ was all I could say.

“Yeah, I kind of look like shit,” he said. “Didn’t sleep well. Just a tad underfed.”

Fury boiled up inside me and I wheeled on Clive without a thought. “Has he been ill-treated in Detention?” I cried. “Because that would be low, even for you.”

I couldn’t believe I’d said that, taken that tone. It made me wonder if at this point I had actually come to full-on hate My Master-God.

Clive ignored the question, and turned to Rick. “This is the second Challenge: you will be transported to the planet of Toxia, and left there with nothing but the clothes on your backs. In 24 hours, just after the Toxian dawn, you will return to the arrival spot and be retrieved. That’s all.”

“Nothing but our clothes?” asked Rick. “But what about evening wear for the casinos, my Speedo for the swimming pool?”

 _Well, he’s not dead yet, I thought gratefully_.

”Try to maintain your sense of humor on Toxia, Mr. Sanchez,” said Clive icily. “I’m sure it will serve you well. Now the two of you, stand on the platform.”

We obeyed, and there was a green flash, and it got colder. Around us was the low tundra of Toxia, with the rocky outcroppings of the foothills in the near distance.

“Well,” said Rick, looking around, “we sure as shit aren’t going to find any porno mags here, so I guess we’ll have to make our own fun.”

“What did they do to you?” I asked.

“Oh don’t panic, Di—they kept me awake, they gave me nothing to eat but this shitty gruel, but it’s not like they waterboarded me. I’ll be okay. I was mostly just bored. So, what you been up to? Attending state dress balls? Mediating between quarreling serfs?”

“I met with Morty.”

The humor left his face. “How is he?”

“He’s doing fine. They put him up in a nice room with video games. He misses you.”

“Like hell he does. I don’t treat him as well as your people apparently are. Is he scared? Oh why the fuck did I ask that? It’s Morty, of course he’s scared shitless.”

“He’s holding up. But worried about you of course. I think it reassured him to know someone in authority has his back. And yours…I told him I liked you. That got me some points.”

I expected another joke, but Rick just looked at me gratefully. “Thanks. I really appreciate your doing that.”

“No thanks needed, Rick…it was selfish of me really. I wanted to ask him about you. Just to confirm my impressions.”

“Oh, I see. And I’m sure you were on the same page, that you haven’t a fucking clue what my deal is.”

“Yeah, that was pretty much it.”

Rick chuckled weakly. Then he turned from me to look around some more, analyzing everything within sight. As he pivoted, scanning, he said, “So tell me what you know about this shithole.”

“The biggest problem is gets really cold after sundown. And there’s nothing flammable.”

“These puny, wispy plants…it seems like they’re the only plants. If they don’t burn, can you at least eat them?”

“They’re like grass, not poisonous but will pass right through you without providing nourishment.”

“There’s a stream over there. Is the water potable?”

“Yes, that’s the one thing in our favor.”

“Well happy fucking day, we won’t be thirsty while we die of hypothermia,” said Rick. “Any chance there are caves among those rocks?”

“I’m not sure, could be.”

“Okay.” Rick looked me in the eye. “As your cruise director, I’d like to let you know our delightful itinerary for your entertainment pleasure today. We’ll begin by searching for a fucking cave. And when we’ve sucked all the fun out of that project, you’re gonna sit somewhere that I can’t lose you, and I’m going to figure out how the hell we’re going to get through the night. Sound good?”

“Nothing I’d rather do,” I replied. 

* * * 

We found a cave, a nice, small one with a narrow opening. Then I sat on a rock and watched Rick ponder, walk around, and futz with plants, rocks and dirt. After awhile I saw him take up a big handful of the wispy plants, and rub them on the rough rocks that constituted most of the minerals in this area. The plants sort of disintegrated and then tangled up, like hair when you tease it. After a pretty short time, Rick was holding a fluffy ball that looked like….

“Oh my god, Rick…you made insulation!” I cried.

He looked up with a twisted smile. “See, on this planet, once cavemen evolve, the first really smart one is going to do this, and hold it up over his head, and cry, ‘I have made INSULATION!’ And then the other cavemen will worship him and call him God of the Multiverse.”

I laughed heartily and felt better than I had since I was drunk. “You’re the best!” I cried.

“You like me now, but you won’t after spending the next six hours making this stuff with me and filling that cave with it.”

Well, as it turned out, that proved true. Rick had arrived on Toxia already in bad shape, hungry and tired. I got to a similar state eventually myself, my hands raw from pulling up plants and making fluff, my back aching from hauling armfuls to the cave and shoving them into place. At least the activity kept us warm. I kept thinking we’d made enough to wrap ourselves up, but Rick insisted we needed a lot more, that we should make as much of it as we could. The sun went lower in the sky and time was running out. 

And then we had a fight.

“Clive actually told me in the transport that you’d die today,” I complained. “He said it with relish, too. I had no idea he could be so awful.”

“Well, I find his honesty refreshing,” replied Rick, rolling up another wad of fluff.

“It’s sick, I’m not joking!” I retorted.

“What part of ‘hey, my hobby is bringing people to my planet to die in horrible ways so my ego gets stroked’ did you not understand before, Diana?” He regarded me with a cold eye.

“I never liked it—but the other challengers, well, they came of their own free will.”

“So they were assholes too. Let me rephrase: ‘My hobby is bringing _assholes_ to my planet to die in horrible ways so my ego gets stroked.’ Wow, that _is_ better.”

I set down the plant in my hand and stared at him. “Okay, I know, I know I’ve looked the other way, I know I’ve pretended everything was okay. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

“Rule of thumb: nothing is ever okay, and everyone is stupid.”

“I can’t be that negative, Rick. I can’t be like you, so…so nihilistic. I know I’m sheltered and spoiled, I know you’ve seen all kinds of horrible things and stared into the face of evil, etc., etc., but I still believe there’s good in the multiverse. Even more good than evil, I think.”

“Sure you do. I can tell, Diana, because you—you see good in _me_. Well, clearly your talent for self-deception is fucking boundless. So you’re not an authority on anything. You’re not—you’re not a trustworthy source of info, toots. When it comes to meaning-of-life shit. You’re fine when we’re talking plant life and water sources, just to be clear.”

“Rick, stop it, you shouldn’t—“

He dropped the plant he was fluffing and squinted at me. “What? I shouldn’t talk like that about myself? I fucking love to talk about myself, and I fucking love feeling sorry for myself, so holy shit, this is my favorite kind of conversation, Diana! God damn it, don’t psychoanalyze me, it’s not worth your time! No, no, let’s change the subject and I’ll psychoanalyze _you_. Here’s what’s going on in your brain, sweetie: You see the smartest man in the multiverse, a guy who can solve any problem, get himself out of any scrape, and Jesus Christ that’s so sexy, isn’t it? He makes you feel all safe, he’s so strong and powerful and shit. And your deeply repressed female-lizard-brain rises up and you want to be submissive, you want him to take the reins, yeah, it’s even fucking cool if he goes nuts and makes you think and feel stuff you never think and feel, like he’s making you his puppet. That’s _really_ a turn-on! Have I nailed it, Mistress-God? Have I fucking pegged you correctly?”

I stared at him, speechless, drowning in a sea of shame and embarrassment. I couldn’t argue with a word of it, and I felt so utterly stupid. There was nothing to say, nothing at all to say. I cast my eyes down and blinked back tears. I didn’t want him to see me cry—I didn’t want him to see my feelings at all just then.

Rick didn’t say anything else. He just picked up some more plants and went back to fluffing. My throat was too tight to speak even if I had been able to come up with a word to say. Finally I went back to work too. 

The sun was getting quite low by now. I was about to break the silence when Rick did, saying what I was thinking, “We have to stop and get the cave ready to take shelter. Have some water, take a piss. Then we’ll hunker down.”

“Yes…best to get a head start warming it up in there.”

“Exactly,” he agreed. 

There had actually been a moment earlier in the day when I savored the thought of our mutual body heat saving our lives that night. Hell, it could have been a set-up for a great sex scene in a porno movie. But right then all I could think of was how long the night was going to be, and how silent and miserable, not to mention the cold. 

And it was all of that and worse. We burrowed into the fluff, into the pitch darkness, and lay two feet apart in utter silence, and waited for sleep. For me it was a long time in coming. I hated myself, I questioned any feeling I’d ever had for Rick, or any other human being for that matter. I wondered if life could really be as utterly pointless as Rick Sanchez believed. I felt completely alone, no God, and even no connection to humanity. I wondered if the cold took me, if that would really be so bad. And finally I fell asleep.

The fluff was working. I wasn’t cold at all when I woke up in the darkness, sometime before dawn. But then I realized there was something firm under my head, something firm wrapped around me. I came to full consciousness. 

My head was on Rick’s chest, and his arm was wrapped around me.

I didn’t dare move. I didn’t want to wake him. I didn’t want him to realize I was there, in his arms, and feel him shove me away. I kept my breath even and slow, and held stock still. 

I didn’t care what he had said. Heartless universe, female-lizard-brain, all of it. I loved being against his warm body, smelling his Rick-scent, feeling my body rise and fall gently as he breathed beneath me. In spite of everything, being in his arms was an overwhelming comfort. Whatever the truth was about the universe, about _me_ , something else was just as true: Love was a real thing. It undid the bad, it turned a light on the darkness, it made flowers of laughter bloom in the mud of tragedy. 

“I know you’re awake,” he said, and I felt the resonance of that husky voice against my breasts.

I started to sit up, and said, “Rick, I don’t know how I got here, I’m sorry—”

“It wasn’t you,” he said softly. “It was me. Lie back down.”

I obeyed him without further word. He shifted my body slightly so he could get a tighter grip, then relaxed. I closed my eyes. “Talk to you in the morning,” I whispered.

“Yeah, sleep well, Di,” Rick replied. 

Just as the sky was brightening from midnight blue to indigo, we crawled out of the cave, bundled up in wads of the fluff. It was frigid, but dawn would come very soon and we’d make it till then. We made our way across the tundra to the pick-up spot and sat down on our fluff on the cold ground to wait to be transported home.

I looked at Rick and he looked at me. “Well,” he said wearily, “I guess I’ve tied your douchebag husband.”

“All hail, Tied-for-the-God-of-the-Multiverse,” I replied with a smile.

“It’s not official till I get a goddamn drink, babe, so shut the fuck up,” Rick said.


	4. The Eve of Challenge #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana struggles with her feelings for Rick, and fears his death is imminent; she and Rick get intimate at the darkest hour.

We were given a day off before the final challenge. I used it to recover and wondered if Rick was being given the chance to do the same. Meanwhile, the news of our success had its expected dramatic effect: the media had a field day, various government officials made statements regarding the political ramifications of the challenger’s “tying” our Master-God, and the stock market took a dive. Rodger met with me in the morning to prep me for the official press conference, which basically consisted of telling me to smile and nod at whatever Clive said. We faced the media in the afternoon, and our leader made some quick, gracious statements of congratulations to Mr. Sanchez and wished him well for the final Challenge. I had to admit, he pulled it off convincingly. Away from the cameras, Clive avoided me like the plague.

The emotional rollercoaster was taking its toll on me. The only consistent feeling I had was a rather bitter pleasure that My Master-God now had to share that title, although of course that meant nothing in practical terms. I certainly realized now that I had to resign from my position as Clive’s mistress, which I knew was my legal right, but I didn’t look forward to undertaking that process. As for my feelings concerning Rick, the rush of my initial crush was gone now. In its place was a weakness for the man that I couldn’t explain and certainly couldn’t rejoice over. I wanted with all my heart to see him, all the while knowing there could be no happy resolution for us. 

I was also quite afraid he wouldn’t survive the following day.

I took dinner in my rooms, and retired to bed early, even though I had taken a long nap in the morning and wasn’t in the least sleepy. I called up _Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ on my tablet and started to read it for the third time. It was one of the funnier satires, and I certainly didn’t need anything dreary on an evening like this.

My concentration levels, understandably, were at an all-time low. I had just read page 53 for the fourth time when abruptly my door burst open. Through it flew Rick, who shut it hastily behind him.

“My god, Rick!” I cried, sitting up in the bed.

“Yeah, I escaped,” he said, a little out of breath. “Could have done it before this, but it seemed like too much trouble. Today, however, I wanted a drink, and a meal that wasn’t sparse and shitty—check and check, by the way—and to visit Morty—also check, he says hi—and to get a decent night’s sleep. Mind if I crash with you?”

“How did you escape?” I asked, finding it hard to believe even though I shouldn’t.

He ignored me and looked around the room. “They aren’t allowed to look here, I assume,” he said, and then turned his eyes to me.

“You assume correctly. God, Rick, you didn’t kill anyone did you?”

He came over and sat on the edge of the bed. “Hell no. Contrary to public opinion I don’t get my rocks off killing people. A couple guys are…incapacitated…in a place where they won’t be found for awhile. I hope they get really fucking hungry and can’t sleep. Say, this crib pretty posh.” He fell back on the bed and sighed, “Oh yeah…no crappy little pad on concrete for _this_ guy tonight!”

Rick stared up at me, as if expecting me to offer some form of entertainment. “What?” I asked.

“Look, Di—I wanted to talk to you about something.”

That seemed like the most out-of-character thing he’d ever said to me. “Okay,” I replied, setting my tablet on the night stand.

He sat up and scooted further onto the bed, folding his long legs to sit cross-legged style. “That little dust-up we had on Toxia,” he began, obviously very uncomfortable. “Well—I’d like to take back something.”

So an apology was coming? Dare I dream? “Go on,” I told him.

“I told you not to psychoanalyze me. I’ve…kinda changed my mind on that point.” He frowned. Then said, “I gave you that whole nice, astute analysis of yourself—of which I’m still proud, by the way—but what’s fucking stupid is that I can’t figure out the inverse. I mean, why it is that I seem to be all, well, into you. It doesn’t make sense.”

I suppose it was ironic that I didn’t react angrily to this, but a statement like that coming from Rick Sanchez just wasn’t the same as the words coming from anyone else. I was actually quite touched. 

He stared at me from the tops of his eyes, his chin lowered submissively, and at first I thought it was a come-on (since it honestly was a very alluring expression). But then he said, “Damn it, woman—don’t leave me dangling here.” 

“Sorry,” I said. I began to give his query honest thought. “Come to think of it, Rick,” I told him, “I’m not sure. You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. I wouldn’t have pegged me for your type.”

“Yeah, not a redhead,” he said. “But to be honest, I have to admit to one thing. You kinda of remind me of my wife. Diane. And don’t you dare ask a single question about her.” He paused thoughtfully. “But she was nice like you. So I guess there’s some precedent.”

So that solved the mystery regarding my name, and his words at the restaurant. I wouldn’t have dared ask anything about Rick’s wife even if he hadn’t told me not to, his “was” implying either they were split up or she was dead. Oh, I definitely wondered, especially considering the wistful tone in his voice. But I proceeded on, to assure him that topic was understood as off-limits. “That’s it, I think,” I agreed, “I’m too nice.”

“Too fucking nice,” he agreed with a nod. “Do you have that book _Pollyanna_ on this Earth? Because you’re a Pollyanna. Life is nothing but a bowl of cherries and that shit. People like that drive me bonkers. Jerry, my asshole son-in-law, gets like that.” Rick shuddered. “It’s the worst. Why are you not the worst?”

“I have no idea,” I replied.

“Great, neither of us has a fucking clue. I’m not sure I can live with this.”

I put my hand on his arm, humoring him. Because the conversation was starting to strike me as quite funny, and I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t taking it seriously. “Rick,” I said, “can’t you just brush it off? I mean, this is all going to be over soon and you can go back to your regular life. Not that you have a regular life, but you catch my drift.”

“That doesn’t help,” he said, actually looking sad. “Much to my surprise, I don’t like thinking that tomorrow I’m outta here, leaving you on this crap planet with your abundance of intellect all over the fucking place. Whether it’s via one of your poorly executed interdimensional portals—that ‘Transference Room’ was total garbage, by the way—or in a coffin, which is the likelier scenario.”

I seized on that last statement with alarm. “You’re joking,” I said.

He shot me a stern look. “Fuck no, I’m not joking,” he said. “The third Challenge is impossible.”

My gut had turned to ice, because Rick was too smart to simply be using hyperbole here. “Why do you think that?” I asked, drawing back my hand.

“Logic. Okay, so Clive made the first Challenge really, really hard, but not so hard that he wasn’t sure he could pull it off himself. In fact I imagine he knew how to pull it off going in, why wouldn’t he know all about that garbage dump beforehand? Just hard enough so nobody else could solve it. The second Challenge was tricky, because he had to be able to beat it, but it needed to be right on the edge of his abilities to make sure no one else could beat it too.

“Which brings us to the third Challenge. On the very off chance that some schmuck survived the first two, the most important thing was to make sure they didn’t beat all three. Clive can live with someone tying him, but not beating him. It was worth it to make the Challenge so hard he couldn’t get through it, to make sure no one would win more than he did. And also—more importantly—that anyone who tied him would end up dead. So yeah, he made it impossible, to guarantee he gets to stay the reigning winner.”

“You should quit then,” I told him urgently. “You said it yourself, you don’t care about the title.”

“I said I wanted to shut everyone up about it so they’d leave me alone.”

“That’s not a good enough reason!”

“Okay, I checked—I’m not allowed to bow out. Fine print: quitters get executed.”

I raised my hands to my face. “This is insanity!” I cried.

“Well, it always was,” said Rick softly and matter-of-factly. And then he went on, “Look Di, I didn’t want to freak you out. We went off on a tangent.”

“A tangent! This should have been the main topic, Rick!”

I was waving my arms a little hysterically now, and Rick took hold of them and gripped my hands and put them on his knees. “Steady there, tiger,” he said soothingly. “C’mon, I could be wrong. One man’s impossible is not necessarily Rick Sanchez’s impossible.”

“Is that what you really think, though?” I said, fighting back tears.

“I say we wait and see. Life is a crapshoot. Hell, _you_ could get assassinated tomorrow by some crazed Clive-fan, and I could be just fine. No use borrowing trouble. Anyway, stop avoiding the question.”

I wiped my eyes and sniffled, “What question?”

“Of why the fuck I’ve fallen in love with you, stupid. Remember the whole original subject?” He squeezed my hands and shook his head with exasperation.

“Oh Rick…” I said balefully. “I don’t know. This—”

He went on blithely, “See, the problem too is that I have no fucking clue how to seduce a woman like you. Someone with such ‘fine sensibilities.’ In the past I just waited around for the right type to throw herself at me. And those ladies are more, shit, I don’t know, ‘rough and ready,’ if you will. For example, it probably wasn’t the best approach for me to bring that up, and I may have blown this already. See Di, I’m totally out of my element here.” He threw up his hands in frustration.

I laughed. God, it felt good to laugh right then.

He sat there looking at me, with a pathetically lost expression on his face. “I’ve been such a jerk,” he said. “But I want to kiss you really bad.”

I leaned forward, took his face in my hands, and kissed him. His arms came around me and drew me to his body. The kiss was deep, and long, and my heart began to race and my breath quicken. Rick drew back, and looking into my eyes in a kind of awe, said, “Whoa…I forgot about how you’re really into me.”

“I _am_ really into you,” I agreed.

“So I can just, kind of… _proceed_?”

“You _better_ proceed.”

“Fuckin’ A,” he said gleefully, peeling off his lab coat and shirt with vigor. I worked on pulling off my nightdress. Rick said, “Now I can go to my death a happy man, having achieved my greatest heart’s desire…!”

“That’s hilarious, but no death jokes, I’m not over that yet,” I told him, helping with his pants.

“So you’re not in the mood to laugh? I thought you liked me because I’m funny. All right then, I can make you do something other than laugh, if that’s My Mistress-God’s desire.”

The last of our clothes came off, and Rick lunged and pinned me flat to the bed. He stared down at me, his gaze piercing, and in a menacing tone said, “You’ve given me confidence, God protect you.” 

After that we stopped talking. Rick had misled me as far as his abilities to make love to someone “with fine sensibilities.” He applied a superb technical knowledge of human anatomy to the task at hand. His lanky body provoked ridiculous levels of lust from me; his deep eyes and his tangled, crazy hair made me frantic. He walked a perfect line between gentle and forceful. He made absolutely glorious sex noises in that delicious voice of his. He was strong and aloof and Rick-ish, and tender and attentive and obviously smitten, by turns, so as to keep me off balance in the most wonderful way. 

When he entered me, suddenly every frightening, wonderful emotion I had felt for him in the past days flooded over me in an overwhelming rush. I had wanted this so badly, from the moment he had made that sarcastic, furious speech at the Capitol Court the day he arrived. Covering my body with his, plunging himself into me, was the strange and beautiful enigma that was Rick Sanchez. He was so wise, so funny, and such a mess…there couldn’t possibly be a better God of the Multiverse.

Just as I realized his urgency was nearing its peak, Rick reached down and slid his hand between our bodies. Before I could wonder what was happening, he slipped his finger in…and in the next split second a wave of pleasure beyond anything I’d ever experienced had me in its grip. His hand withdrew, and during his next thrusts he too climaxed, making the most delicious sex noises yet. He collapsed on me, panting, his breath loud in my ear.

When I could speak—which took a minute—I said, “What…what was—?”

Rick cut me off. “I call it the Magical Orgasmic Touch,” he said, a smile in his voice.

“You have a Magical Orgasmic Touch?” I managed, with effort.

“Wouldn’t you just expect it from Rick Fucking Sanchez?” he sighed contentedly. “Anyway, you have it too, it seems.” He kissed my ear.

“Mine isn’t magical, Rick,” I retorted.

“I’ll be the judge of that. Now I’m just going to lie here and bask the in the glow of my success. And I thought you’d be such a challenge…”

I hit him weakly on the shoulder. “Stop it, you cocky bastard,” I said, a smile in my voice too. “You have a Magical Orgasmic Touch…”

“Yup, M.O.T., right over heah!”

“You totally buried the lead, Rick Sanchez. Didn’t it occur to you to appeal to my interest in the M.O.T.?”

“Oh but sweetcheeks, I just wanted to know you loved me for myself.”

I sat up and looked down into his smug but wonderful face. I cried, “I love you for yourself, you darling bastard, I love you for yourself already! Can we do it again now please?”

“You mean the M.O.T., or all of it?” He cupped his warm hands over my breasts and watched himself caress them.

I mocked his voice then, saying “’I have no fucking clue how to seduce a woman like you.’ That was just bullshit, Rick Sanchez.”

He grinned. “All of it, then,” he said.


	5. Challenge #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes down to just how powerful and amazing Rick Sanchez can manage to be...

Rick slipped away sometime before dawn and was gone when I woke up. For my first minute of awareness, I just lay there smiling, basking in thoughts of the night before.

Then I remembered what was coming. 

If I hadn’t wanted him to die yesterday, I wanted it even less today. It was still totally foolish to think two people like us could have a future, but I still felt I would give anything just to always be able to know Rick Sanchez was out there somewhere in the multiverse. 

I got dressed and ate breakfast, reading the news as I did so. Apparently a huge crowd had gathered at the Capitol Court to await the outcome of the God-Quest. No one knew where the last Challenge was to be held, so press and public alike waited there for news.

I couldn’t stop wondering if there were some way I could put a stop to it. But I knew the agreements made were all legally binding according to most intergalactic law and certainly the laws of Earth D-112. A far better solution would be for Rick to simply escape the planet, but then he would have had to spend the rest of his life being hunted down by My Master-God, who was quite well connected with the most powerful beings in the known universe. It would be no life for a man like him. And that whole course of thought was pointless anyway…Rick wasn’t going to back down.

So my hands were tied. 

It was late morning when Clive himself came to fetch me for the Challenge. I was very surprised to see him.

“Walk with me,” he said, taking my hand and leading me out of my room.

“Can we get there by walking, wherever we’re going?” I asked, pulling my hand away and walking next to him down the hallway.

“Yes, we’re going to the Cube.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

Clive turned to me and I saw a wicked glint in his eyes. “It’s a prison of sorts, under the Capitol. Very few people know of it, not even Rodger.”

“A prison? So this is another escape challenge then?”

“Yes. A very simple one.”

I hated the look on his face. I grabbed him by the elbow and stopped him. “Clive, is the Challenge impossible?”

“Does impossible matter when it’s Rick Sanchez?” he asked spitefully.

“It can’t be impossible, that isn’t fair,” I cried.

“Nothing is impossible for a god.”

“You call yourself a god, and you couldn’t do it!” I spat at him.

He stood menacingly over me, and said in a low, terrifying voice, “Well, Diana, I’m not a god. And sadly for you, neither is he. Now let’s go—they’re waiting.”

He rushed me through a maze of hallways and various elevators, always going down. At last we came to a heavy, locked door which Clive opened with an eye scan. Beyond the door was a small room, and in it the head of the Capitol Guard, who was armed, a technician with an immense laser tool, and Rick. They stood in the middle of the room, and before them on the floor was a hatch that I could see was made of a seamless piece of Toxian steel.

Clive fixed Rick with a steady stare. He pointed to the hatch. “Under there,” he said, “is the Cube. It’s a chamber that is about 350 cubic feet inside, made of Toxian steel eight inches thick. This hatch you see is also eight inches thick, and once the two of you are inside, it will be laser-welded shut. In other words, you’ll be sealed inside a hollow cube of Toxian steel, completely buried underground. The oxygen contents of the Cube have been adjusted to last the two of you at least 24 hours but not more than 25. So it will of course be necessary for you to escape in that interval.”

Rick was staring at Clive with an unreadable expression. “You won’t let Diana die, I assume?” he asked. 

“We’re monitoring her blood oxygen remotely. We’ll intervene if needed.”

“You better be telling the truth, motherfucker,” said Rick in a tone that made my blood run cold.

“She’s my Mistress,” shrugged Clive. “Of course I am. Now it’s time.”

The hatch was opened, we were lowered into the black, the hatch was closed, and I heard the sound of the welding. Then silence. The darkness was complete, I could see nothing. I groped for Rick’s arm and held onto it. I could think of nothing to say.

“Fuck me, this is the worst,” Rick said, very unhappily.

“You broke out of the Toxian steel pain-cuff, I thought maybe you had some sort of…”

“Mastery over Toxian steel? Nope. I have mastery over dislocating my footbones.”

My heart sank. “So you have no idea what to do?”

“Oh I know exactly what to do. It’s just that…it takes more than just me. And I don’t even think I can do _my_ part. I’m _sure_ I can’t right this minute.”

“I don’t understand.” I wished I could see his face. The utter blackness made this so much worse. We sat down on the floor and were silent for a minute.

Then I heard Rick sigh. “So...I came up with this great theory, but I was too chicken-shit to ever try it out. Oh man, isn’t it just like shitty life to make me happy and then kill me? Doesn’t that just sum it all up?”

I couldn’t believe he was being so defeatist, especially after the previous two Challenges, and his cool head and confidence throughout. But then, I didn’t know what he was talking about and this could all boil down to the fact that the third Challenge was impossible.

“Diana,” he said, “have we finally reached the moment where you see the universe as the basic hell-hole it really is? Or is there really nothing that can piss out that glimmer of hope you always keep burning?” There was actually no sarcasm in his tone; it seemed he was legitimately posing the question.

I gave it a minute’s thought, and he waited in silence. Then it came to me. “It’s satire,” I said. “I’d say love but I know you’d call that a bullshit cliché. It’s actually love _and_ satire.”

“Enlighten me,” Rick said.

“Every satirist I’ve ever read is just like you. They all looked the shitty side of life square in the face. _Hitchhiker’s Guide_ starts with aliens destroying the Earth to build a superhighway. In _Candide_ a woman’s butt cheek is cut off and eaten. Not a one of these writers candy-coated anything. But did they curl up in a ball and cry? Did they slit their wrists? No.”

“Douglas Adams died young of a heart attack after exercising,” commented Rick dryly. “Pretty sucky.”

“Life _is_ sucky, I’m granting you that point, Rick!”

“Sorry. Go on.”

“The thing is, they laughed. They _laughed_. Existence is terrible and also wonderful. Existence can’t decide which it is, but it sure as hell knows it isn’t all one and none of the other. And that’s funny stuff. I’m not sure why, but it is. And who does all this remind you of? Oh yeah, Mr. Tied-for-God-the-Multiverse: you. You’re a living, breathing satire, Rick Sanchez. Satire is funny because it believes thing’s sure as shit aren’t all good, but they’re good enough to keep laughing. So apparently, that has to be what you believe too.”

He was silent for a moment. “I’m satire, huh?” he said pensively. “Which has to mean I believe things aren’t one hundred percent in the shitter.”

“That’s right.”

“That does…kinda make sense. Never really looked at it that way, but it kinda makes sense. All right, you’re on a roll here, babe, so what about the ‘love’ part? You said ‘love and satire.’”

“If there were no such thing as love, you wouldn’t have checked to make sure Clive would spare me. You wouldn’t have visited Morty yesterday. If there were no such thing as love everything would fall apart. We’d all be long extinct. But we’re built to love, at least the majority of us are. So hopefully the average person can live with at least a modicum of joy. You have to admit you’ve had at least a modicum of joy.”

“I’ve had a fuckin’ blast, if you must know.”

“I think you just need to trust me on this, I’m pretty smart, and a hell of a lot better read than you.”

“Huh,” said Rick, lost in thought. Then, after at least two minutes, he broke the silence and said, “I may have been wrong about this.”

“Halle-fucking-lujah,” I replied.

“You’re developing quite the potty mouth, missy,” said Rick. “All right,” he continued, “seeing as my worldview has just been undone, maybe I’m wrong about the other thing. Maybe it would help if I assume I’m wrong about the other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“That I can’t do it. And that I can’t get the help. Oh shit, how embarrassing is it if I beat this because you gave me a fucking pep talk! Oh yeah, of course—in the end it’s not the hero but the wonderful woman behind him who’s really responsible for saving the day.”

“Can the day just be saved and we can worry about who gets the credit later?” I asked.

“Oh, I’ll be taking the credit, don’t you worry your pretty head about that,” he declared. It was totally clear now that his despondency was gone. He let out a deep sigh, then said, “Okay, here’s how this is going to go down. Either I’m going to sit here in vain for the next 23 and a half hours, or at some point I’m going to disappear. Not with a poof or anything, I just won’t be here. Then if the rest goes right, at some point not too long after, I’ll be back for you.”

“Okay…” I said tentatively.

“Just to be clear, the disappearing is the hard part. If I disappear, that’s a really good thing.” I felt his hand reach out, flailing to find me, and I grabbed it. Our hands squeezed tight. “One more question,” Rick said, “you want one more M.O.T. before I do this?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, and reached out to hug him.

He clung to me tightly. “You’re distracting me,” he said.

“You’re not letting go,” I said.

He let go and pulled away.

I said, “I won’t know you’re gone unless I say something to you periodically to check. But that will distract you, won’t it?”

Rick sighed. “Give me some more of these easy puzzles, I like them,” he said. “Put your hand on my shoe. I won’t be able to feel it. But if I go my shoe will come with me. Now hush.”

I put my hand on his shoe.

I had no idea what he was trying to do, not the slightest clue. But if Rick could literally make himself disappear, then he deserved to be called a god, it seemed to me. I wondered if it would help if I believed in him. Like clapping for Tinkerbell. I had nothing else to do [except be terrified] and nothing to think about [except his suffocating to death], so I visualized it. His shoe vanishing from under my fingers. A short pause. And then the sound of a laser slicing through the hatch, light pouring into the room around his face above mine, his hands reaching down to pull me out of the Cube…

This went on for quite awhile. I would despair and then I would go back to the visualization. And then I would think about something random, like what was going to happen to Morty, and what would my family say when I left my position as Mistress, and if maybe some small fanatic faction would arise on Earth D-112 and deify Rick as a departed God, and ask me to be their leader, which was a crazy fantasy to be having, and oh God, the shoe was still there.

I don’t know if I ultimately went into some kind of trance, or fell asleep, but I suddenly realized I had no idea how long we had been sitting silently in the Cube, and his shoe was still under my hand, and then it wasn’t.

It _wasn’t_.

“Rick?” I whispered hoarsely. No answer. I flung out my arms and groped, crying, “ _RICK_???”

He was gone. 

“You did it,” I whispered. It may have been the happiest moment of my life, finding myself buried alive in a Toxian steel cube all alone. But five minutes later I had an even happier one.

Suddenly the space was filled with blinding green light. I squinted against it, staring into it even though the light hurt my eyes. The side of the Cube had opened up into a glowing, swirling liquid mass a brilliant shade of green. Out of the fluid, or light, or whatever it was, popped Rick, holding out his hand.

“Come with me if you want to live!” he cried gustily. And then followed it with, “Fuck yeah, that was _way_ more cool than corny, I’m glad I said it!”

I stood up and grabbed his hand and he tugged me into the swirl. We popped out on the other side…

Where it was seriously weird.

We were floating in space, except it couldn’t be space because there were no stars. There were no stars, but there were lots of cats.

I turned to Rick, dumbfounded.

Matter-of-factly, he explained, “They’re void cats. This is the void. They end up here from all the Schrodinger experiments. You know the deal, the cat in the box isn’t alive or dead until we open it up and look. It’s a quantum physics thought experiment….”

“I never could understand that thing,” I said, watching the cats float by. Some were drifting lazily, others were flailing their legs as if trying to control their flight. A lot of them were meowing.

“You’re too fucking right-brained, Di,” commented Rick. “Anyway, the Cube thing made me think of it right away. Alive or dead in a box. It was simple: I needed to be a paradox, neither in the box nor out of it, both in it and out of it, whatever.”

“Simple,” I said, trying not to feel queasy from floating among the cats. “Then why was it so hard?”

“Try convincing yourself you’re two places at once and also neither place. It was sort of a, ‘okay, if I’m smart enough to do this I’ll find myself in the void, and if I’m in the void, I’ll be out of the box, but right now I’m in the box, but of course I’m also smart enough to do this so I must be out of the box,’ type of thing. _Plus_ , Schrodinger’s thought experiment says that you need the determination of an outside observer to look at the cat and see if it’s alive or dead, in order for reality to collapse into one possibility or the other. So for the whole thing to work, there had to be _an outside observer_.”

“What?”

“There had to be…God…a greater consciousness…or something.”

“Whoa.”

“And I guess he, she, or it perceived me vibrating between the box and the void and oblivion, and elected to see me in the void. Or maybe it was nothing like that at all. Never mind—I just wanted to show you where I went to pick up this portal gun.”

I saw then the weapon in his right hand, or rather, not a weapon. “That created the swirling green thingy?”

“It’s a portal. _Por – tal_. Keep up with me here. So, the first time I ended up in the void—long story involving some serious timeline fuckups by my grandkids—I realized if I could get here at will, then it would be the perfect place to stash a portal gun. See, you strap something to one of these cats, it’s attached to all of them.” He floated off and snatched a passing tabby, and set the gun on its back. Sure enough, portal guns appeared on the backs of all the cats I could see. Rick kept the gun and set the meowing feline free, and all the guns disappeared. “So,” he concluded, “I left a portal gun here, just in case of future necessity. Here’s where you exclaim, ‘Rick, you’re a fucking genius, I want you to take me right now!’”

“Oh stop,” I said. “I feel sick from all this floating, my head hurts from the quantum physics. And all that pathetic meowing around us….”

“Wow. I’m with Morty now, am I? Fine, let’s wrap this motherfucker up.”

He grabbed me by the hand, shot off the portal gun, and pulled me through the green swirling disk onto the flagstones of the Capitol Court.

The place was a mob scene. There were people as far as the eye could see, and media reps with camera crews, and also crowd control officers, food trucks, and even souvenir stands. Everyone was looking bored and even a little tired, and I wondered how long we really had been occupied with the Challenge. At any rate, with our abrupt appearance all eyes turned to us and there was an audible gasp from the crowd.

Rick looked around, shrugged, and said, “Yeah well—V-I-C-T-O-R-fucking-Y, folks.”

Mass hysteria broke loose. Crowd control firmed up its line to hold the masses back, the press started galloping our way, and Rick said, “Oh hell no,” and then shouted at the top of his lungs, “By the way, there’s a giant Toxian steel Cube torture chamber under your Capitol, and now the government’s gonna want to wipe all your memories!” He snickered smugly and blew open a new portal, which we dove through. It closed behind us.

We were in Morty’s room.

“Rick!” the boy squealed, and ran to us and threw his arms around his grandpa. “You really did it!”

I thought I saw Rick’s eyes get shiny as he returned the hug. “Hell yeah, and I cannot _wait_ to get off this douche-y planet, Morty.”

“What happened? Was it really hard? This jerk guard told me it was impossible. I was really worried! You gotta tell me about all of it—spare no details.”

“Chill, Morty—I’ll tell you all about it, but be warned, I’m gonna leave out the sex parts.”

“Oh geez, Rick!” moaned Morty, covering his face in his hands.

Rick chuckled and turned to me. We looked at each other for a long moment, and then he said, “So, I guess that’s a wrap, Di. Got any plans for your next endeavor?” 

“I’m resigning as Mistress for my next endeavor, Rick. How about you?”

“Well, I know this great alien spa. Every once in awhile a guy needs pampering, you know?”

“Oh definitely, you deserve it.”

Morty let out an aggravated squeak. “Oh come _on_ , guys—this is lame!” he cried. “Rick, aren’t you gonna take her with us? You told me you _like_ her!”

I smiled, raised an eyebrow at Rick, and said, “Did you, now?”

He ignored me and said to Morty, “Look, dumbass, she’s got her world and we’ve got ours. Well, technically we have _all_ the worlds, especially now that I’m God of the Multiverse, but you catch my drift.” He turned back to me and feigned a look of nostalgia and a wistful tone, and said, “Sweetheart, we’ll always have the trash compactor.”

I tried to look sorrowful, but I couldn’t. I burst out laughing.

“What?” said Rick.

“Yanking my chain again, aren’t you? I’ve got your number now, you bastard.” I grinned at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Rick, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You need to pack anything? Ball gowns, the crown jewels, your fox hunting outfit?”

Morty was jumping up and down. “She _is_ coming with us, isn’t she?” he cried gleefully.

“He’s a quick study,” Rick told me.

“I’m all ready to ship out, My Master-God,” I said brightly, with a little salute.

He rolled his eyes. “Now _you’re_ yanking _my_ chain. But look, buttercup, you don’t get to go on _all_ the adventures. You have to write your fucking satire book, you hear me?”

“Okay, okay! Why so interested in the book?”

“Why am interested in anything? Because it’s about me. You know, your pal the Embodiment of Satire. Now before we blow this pop stand, I gotta do something.”

He fired off the portal gun, popped out of the room for about fifteen seconds, and then reappeared, holding aloft a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle bourbon. “Now we can make this fucking thing official!” he cried.

“Did you steal that from The Starpoint?” I exclaimed. “You burgled my favorite restaurant??”

“Classic Rick Sanchez,” groaned Morty. “You’ve been God of the Multiverse for less than an hour, and—”

“Everyone shut the fuck up or I’m not sharing this with you,” declared Rick. He opened a portal, and leaned into it, calling, “If you guys want to be my official entourage, get in here!”

His official entourage got in there.

 

_[CLOSING CREDITS ROLL HERE...but read on for the post-credits scene!]_


	6. The Post-Credits Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping up the adventure...for now? (We'll see if you readers liked it!)

All three of us—with help from Rick’s daughter Beth, her husband Jerry, and Morty’s sister Summer—loaded the last of the carriers from the Smith’s house into the several vans parked in front of it on the street. They were all vans from animal shelters.

“That is one shitload of cats,” said Rick as the vans drove off. He brushed off his hands on his clothes. “Fuck, look at all the hair on my lab coat,” he remarked with irritation.

“Rick, seriously, I’m touched,” I told him. “When I said I was haunted by the thought of those poor void cats, I never thought you’d actually rescue them.”

“There will be more of them soon enough, you know. More dumbass physics students will fool around with Schrodinger’s experiment and a new crop will start collecting. And I’m _not_ making void cat wrangling a regular thing, Mistress Di!”

“That’s would be way beneath you, Rick.”

“Hell yeah it would. Fucking cats. And look, I’ve got _another_ one—here, you take it!”

From his lab coat pocket he pulled a tiny gray kitten, and held it out to me by the scruff of the neck.

“Oh Rick! He’s adorable!” I squealed, taking the kitten into my arms.

“His name’s Dinger,” said Rick noncommittally. “And we’re not taking him on any adventures.”

I snuggled the soft little creature against my neck, then held his little body dangling out in front of me. He disappeared for a second, then reappeared. “Whoa!” I exclaimed.

“Huh,” said Rick, squinting at the kitten. “Well, _that’s_ fucking cool.” 

—End—


End file.
